


Caught in a storm

by ThirstyForRed



Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Epistolary, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:01:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24588772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirstyForRed/pseuds/ThirstyForRed
Summary: Trahearne x Commander, post HoT, vaguely sad and kinda epistolary
Relationships: Trahearne/Player Character (Guild Wars)
Kudos: 11





	Caught in a storm

**Author's Note:**

> wrote back in November 2019, but I just forgot to post it here 🙃

I’m writing you a letter. Of course, I’ll never send it, but it’s not about telling you things that you already know.

I got caught in the storm, here in the heart of Maguuma, too far from any Pact encampment to try running for it, with the rain too cold to just ignore it and keep going. So I found a cave where I’m hiding and waiting for it to end. It might take a few hours or a day, or week, the whole jungle flashes and cracks with unbound energy and wild magic that I don’t entirely understand. It makes the weather weird.

I choose to write you a letter because my only other option was to start crying, and there’s enough moisture around. And I still haven’t written anything in one of these notebooks you gave me. Might as well give you back this: my words of love, written in cursive. I’m aware it doesn’t hold much of value, that I probably should have done it earlier, before, I know. And I’m sorry. So sorry.

I’m sitting on a rock, with feet and boots completely wet, thinking what I’m still doing here, in the forest, instead of running to the next big city, asura’s gate that would take me back home. And the answer is both easy and painful, and very sappy - I don’t think I’m yet ready to go and meet you in the Mist, or the Dream. I’m a survivor, you said it yourself, and I don’t think I would stay dead for too long.

I don’t know anymore where the home is, my home. I could say it’s because I spend my whole life on the move, but that’s not the truth. Not entirely. I think my home was with you. But you’re dead now, so I guess that makes me homeless.

At the very least I’m not entirely aimless, I actually have a mission, one that has everything to do with you. I think I hoped I would find some kind of peace in search for the shards of Caladbolg, but to be honest I’m not entirely sure it wasn’t too early for this. It seems like a thing to do once you get over your grief and had gone through denial, anger, bargaining, and depression to acceptance. I’m fast, but apparently not fast enough to outrun grief.

So instead of holding a shard of your greatsword in my hand and succumbing to complete breakdown, I’m writing you a letter. You should be so proud, not a single tear had landed on the paper. Or raindrop.

I was thinking what I’ll do once I find all pieces and get it repaired, forge back into one. I could go to the Grove and present it before the Pale Tree. I could say: “Look, Mother! It was technically impossible to bring you dragon’s head, that’s why instead I’m giving you the blade that was instrumental in our victory.” But I’m afraid then she would ask to have it back for real, and I don’t think I would be able to actually give it to her. I’m sentimental, I might start crying in front of her. I don’t even think I would fight with it, I would just keep it as a big token of remembrance. Very bulky token.

Not that I think I could ever actually forget you. Meeting you changed my life so drastically, changed me, that I simply don’t know where I would be if not for you. Who I would be. Thinking about it, if we didn’t slay Zaithan, we would probably be dead. So what I’m trying to say is that I’m grateful, that I had you for some time.

Trahearne, dearest, I want you to know that I’m trying my very best to not be the saddest being in Tyria, even if I have every right to it. I think about all the good things we had together - warm smiles, stargazing, and sweetness of berries. About your hand in mine. About your lips on my forehead. 

My Friend, I won’t follow you into the Dream. Or not yet at least. You told me once that you dreamed about impossibly beautiful flowers blooming on cursed shores. But Orr still needs time to grow and with you, it lost its gardener.

I don’t dare to think that I or anyone else could replace you, not truly, but that’s the least I can do. Give you my word and promise and carry on with the fire you started, cleansing Tyria from dragons corruption.

Yours…


End file.
